


Silver

by GretchenSinister



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 17:25:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18721603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister
Summary: Original Prompt: "So I’ve seen about a million prompts and fics where Jack plays the violin. All well and dandy of course, but it gets old. Plus, cold is absolute hell on a violin. To which I suggest this:Jack finds a flute. Made of metal, flutes can go violently out of tune when the temperature around them changes. Thankfully, Jack’s breath is just as cold as the rest of him. Played with cold breath in a cold environment, the flute always stays in perfect tune. He’s kept that flute for ages, using it to mimic birds or playing it in a town or village to freak out everyone who’s wondering where that music came from.Sure it took him a while to figure out how to make music with it (lip positions are notoriously difficult, especially the higher you go) but now he can show off to his new found friends...[cut for length]"So, the flute may not go out of tune as Jack plays it, but I imagine that it would be hard to maintain in the less-than-ideal storage conditions that Jack would probably have.Jack realizes he’s going to have to find a new flute, thinks about why he plays, and gets a new flute in a way he doesn’t expect.





	Silver

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr on 7/20/2015.

Jack opened the black plastic case he’d retrieved from one of his hiding places and took out the head joint of the flute within. This part was definitely still acceptable, but he should have started looking for another instrument months—or years—ago. He ran his fingers gently over the tarnished silver plating before lifting it to his lips and placing his hand over the open end to produce a test note. Good. It sounded just like it had when he had last put the flute away. As for the body, though…  
  
He carefully lifted it from the case. He’d never been able to find a solid silver body that he could take according to his rules—abandoned, being given away for free, or known about by no one—and so they all eventually rusted underneath their tarnish. He didn’t want to accidentally knock a hole in this one before he could find a new one. He fitted the head and body together, aligning the embouchure hole with reference to the holes on the body rather than to any keys. He couldn’t exactly go get rotted, moldy, or dried-out pads replaced, and so it was always just a matter of time before the keys became useless and he had to remove them entirely. He was pretty sure he had practiced more on open-holed flutes than anyone else ever had.  
  
The foot joint was in the same state as the body. When the flute was all together, Jack paused for a moment. With his next flute, he would be more careful. He wouldn’t wear it out within a couple decades. He’d find better hiding places—drier ones, where the temperature didn’t fluctuate so much throughout the year.  
  
He couldn’t promise himself that he wouldn’t play while it snowed, though.  
  
The wind lifted him out of the abandoned building so he could perch on its highest point. He took a few deep breaths, spreading his arms wide into the frigid day, calm now that Jack wasn’t calling the wind. A few small snowflakes drifted down, not enough to start covering the ground yet, but just enough to send a little buzz down Jack’s spine as the people in the town below noticed it. He grinned. He hadn’t known what that was, before. He hadn’t felt it as strongly. He had thought it had something to do with his staff. But, well, his staff was lying next to the flute case, now.  
  
When he was certain that the metal of the flute matched the temperature of the air, he brought it to his lips, and began to play. He played a slow piece at first, one he couldn’t remember if it was of his own devising or not, something that added ornamentation and variation to some of the first songs he remembers hearing after he emerged from the ice. Playing like this soothed his soul in ways nothing else could—not even using his powers and seeing kids happy because of it.   
  
When he thought about it, he figured that it had something to do with how he had picked up the flute with no prompting from the wind, from the moon, from anybody. He had a hard time recognizing his powers without his staff, and he had picked up the staff in a moment where he knew absolutely nothing about who he was or what it might mean. The staff was for Jack Frost, who had some unknown purpose. With the flute, all he had to do was play. When he played, it didn’t matter what his name was. When he played, he had no other purpose than the music. When he played, he could feel everything he didn’t know if an invisible boy with power over winter was supposed to feel.  
  
And when he played, he knew exactly what had gone into every moment of virtuosity. He finished the folksong variations and gave himself a moment to get really familiar again with the keyless holes. Even if, playing on the top of a building, he would be difficult to hear even for people who were open to his music, he wanted to do his best. Even if he was playing a song that had never been transcribed, even if it was a hard-to-define aggregate of the past three hundred years of music, and even if it was written to convey feelings about winter that perhaps no one else had ever felt, or felt for so long, he wanted it to be as perfect as possible.  
  
His fingers flew into the opening run, leaving all other thoughts behind as he exercised a power that he knew was his, in every movement of his fingers and slight shift of his lips.  
  
When this piece was done, he finished with a breathless laugh, and sat down on the roof peak. He would never give this up, even if it was hard finding new flutes when the old ones didn’t work. He could bear the pain of finding those who had abandoned or forgotten their instruments for the sake of the music. He could bear almost anything for that. Maybe he could even ask his new believers if they could keep his flute in their homes. It would mean more frequent moves, but it also might mean a flute that would remain functional for much longer.  
  
After playing for some time more, he reentered the abandoned building only to find it wasn’t exactly as he had left it. There was a small piece of paper folded over his staff, that read  _This is making me very nervous for you_. Jack shook his head and tossed it aside, more interested, and more astounded, at the box just a little bit larger than the case, wrapped in silver paper, that now rested beside it. This had a note on it, too.  _You are very difficult. Why did you not say something earlier? Congratulations on being off Naughty List. Also, materials will not decay, but will not give extra talent. You do not need, and you probably would not want. P.S. You have not lost track of time and I am still inviting you along for the big day. But I could not wait until you started wearing shoes to leave out to give you this._  
  
Jack pressed the heel of his hand to his eye. He had forgotten that this could happen. Even when he had thought of his believers, he had forgotten, because his music was a way of putting himself outside a world that didn’t notice him. He hadn’t realized how much he would be noticed now. He hadn’t thought anyone else might care what he cared about if it was outside his work as a Guardian. He slipped his fingers under the end flaps of the paper, managing a little wobbly smile. It was a good thing that the materials of what North had given him were going to resist decay.  
  
When he saw the shine of the new flute, he knew he’d be seeing how it handled salt water very, very soon. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments from Tumblr:
> 
> mira-eyeteeth reblogged this from gretchensinister and added:  
> OH NO SO MANY JACK FEELS


End file.
